


You Had Me At "Catalytic Converter"

by otatop



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: 5+1 Things, Alternate Universe - Human, M/M, Mechanic!Derek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-05
Updated: 2013-07-05
Packaged: 2017-12-17 19:41:16
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,274
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/871269
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/otatop/pseuds/otatop
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>As he looked down at the hood of the familiar blue Jeep, Derek wanted so badly to be angry. He should be angry. Because this was ridiculous. But then again, so was Stiles.</p><p>OR</p><p>The five times Stiles doesn't need his car fixed and the one time he does.</p>
            </blockquote>





	You Had Me At "Catalytic Converter"

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Stormysaslytherin](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Stormysaslytherin/gifts), [JoulesIsIronic](https://archiveofourown.org/users/JoulesIsIronic/gifts).



1.

May usually wasn’t a very busy month in the garage, at least, not like the winter months when everyone was skidding and sliding and forgetting to take proper precautions. Beacon Hills wasn't a tourist destination, either. Most of the students who went off to college tried their hardest to _stay_ out. So when Derek pulled into his own personal parking spot to open the shop, he was surprised to find a tow truck pulling up at the same time. He wasn’t, however, surprised to see Stiles hopping out of the passenger side of the truck, making stumbling look somehow graceful and saluting the disgruntled driver.  
  
“Your services have been greatly appreciated, Larry!”  
  
Neither of the two onlookers bothered to correct the lanky customer that the tow driver’s name was actually “Mike” because it was _seven in the god damn morning_. Derek just glowered and ripped up the garage door with more force than necessary. Maybe waiting to make coffee in his office had been a bad decision because he most certainly wasn’t a morning person and Stiles most certainly _was_.  
  
“Derek!”  
  
Any other time, and Derek would have met his most… _loyal_ customer with a slightly less stern scowl but it was early and he wasn’t caffeinated, and Stiles was all smiles and jogging. His drawn eyebrows and turned down mouth didn’t stop the boy ( _boy_ ) from greeting him with a friendly slap on the arm. Most people- people with any sense of self-preservation- wouldn’t act so… so… _friendly_ with a face like that.  
  
Derek told himself it was because Stiles was stupid. No one needed to know that that was a blatant lie.  
  
“Long time, no see! How’s the wife and kids?  
  
Stiles seemed infinitely pleased with the joke that had roots in a year old conversation that Derek didn’t remember.  
  
(Yes he did).  
  
He didn’t give Stiles the satisfaction of his remembrance and headed for the office to finish opening while the driver situated the car. Of _course_ Stiles followed without invitation and Derek found himself filling the coffee pot with twice as much water as he needed for himself.  
  
Two summers ago, Stiles had found himself pushing his car into Derek’s shop and Derek had found himself attracted to a minor.  
  
One summer ago, Derek had made coffee for the college student on three separate occasions while his car had been arranged in the shop.  
  
Stiles really _did_ have terrible luck with his car; that’s something that happens when you can’t afford anything better than a ten year old Jeep. He could see that Stiles took care of his car, saw that he kept its inner workings clean and was more than on top of his oil changes. Hell, even his _tires_ were in pristine condition.  
  
But this time…  
  
“A dead battery?” Derek quirked a brow when he’d had enough coffee to finally look at the car and respond to the situation in front of him. He leaned over the engine of the Jeep, shrugging his shoulders expectantly and meeting Stiles steady gaze where he was half perched on the front of his car, close enough for Derek to smell his soap. He lifted his plaid-clad shoulders in mocking response, eyes sparkling and lips twitching.  
  
“Dead batteries _happen_ , Derek. They’re so common- the _most_ common. I would have thought you of all people would have known that.”  
  
If Derek hadn’t been so preoccupied with the thigh next to his weight-bearing hand, he would have been more able to pretend to be insulted.  
  
“Did you leave your lights on for two days or something?” He asked instead of picking up their usual banter, looking down at the small device in his hand to give himself a moment of clarity away from the heavy honey scrutiny. It was a logical question; the battery was barely even registering on his gauge. He looked up again, pointedly avoiding the hand/thigh situation and met the raised eyebrows and frozen face of Stiles. There was a moment where neither of them moved, Derek’s expression evolving from expectant to amused as Stiles blinked purposefully several times.  
  
“There was a _lightning storm_ , Derek,” he finally said, shaking his head like Derek should know better. He had a habit of saying Derek’s name in a way that made him think _I_ do _know better you little shit_. “Some of us don’t have the luxury of living in a place with a garage. My poor baby has to sleep outside every night. It was only a matter of time, _Derek_.”  
  
He really wished Stiles would stop saying his name like that.  
  
(No he didn’t).

 

* * *

 

2.  
  
Come June, Derek had already set in stone his habit of making coffee in his dingy office. Opening at seven wasn’t exactly necessary, but mornings were quiet and Derek liked quiet. He liked getting work done uninterrupted either by a customer or when Isaac joined him at noon. He liked to take his time and take care of his cars and bask in sweet solitude.  
  
But that didn’t mean he was complaining when not fifteen minutes after he finished his coffee, the familiar rumble of a tow truck rattled the glass of the office and his tools. He was prepared this time, awake and caffeinated and not at all caught off guard when a familiar jumble of long legs fell out of the passenger side of the truck.  
  
“As always, it’s been a dream, Steve,” Stiles called over his shoulder, eyes stuck on Derek as he came into the garage and ducked into the office. Wiping his hands on his work jeans, Derek was barely able to hear the driver’s grumpy mumble of _“It’s Mike you annoying twit_ ,” before he had chased after Stiles, who was already pouring himself a cup of coffee like he belonged there into the blue #1 Mechanic mug he’d brought in last summer. There were deep purple bags under his eyes and he acted as if his limbs were weighted down as he unceremoniously flopped onto the second hand couch under the window that overlooked the garage.  
  
“Man, I will tell you, I never thought off-roading would be such a problem considering how high off the ground my car is,” Stiles said with less energy than usual. He patted the cushion next to him as if Derek hadn’t been in the middle of something. Because Derek _was_ in the middle of something. So, naturally, he sat, peaking out the window at the Jeep that had a thick layer of green mud and vegetation all the way up to the door. What…. What the hell?  
  
“Did you drive through a fucking swamp?”  
  
Stiles lolled his head back against the couch and rolled it to meet Derek’s gaze. “I was _off-roading, Derek_.” There he was again, saying his name like that, like he should know better.  
  
But he wasn’t denying the accusation.  
  
“The swamps are half an hour outside Beacon Hills. What on Earth were you doing there so early?”  
  
“Off-roading is a real thing, _Derek_. People do it all the time.” He still wasn’t denying that he drove over thirty minutes to drive through a swamp. Derek could only narrow his eyes, wiping his hands on his jeans some more for lack of something to do with them. He just didn’t _get_ this kid. Deep down, he knew, _knew for a fact_ that these half-assed stories were complete bullshit. But that was very deep down. So deep that Derek could deny that Stiles was a conniving little shit because he was a good kid who just had bad luck with cars.  
  
A good _kid_ that had only just finished his second year of college.  
  
A kid that had trouble with his car every month of summer break and most _certainly was not_ finding excuses to bring his Jeep into Derek’s garage for cheap jobs.  
  
No, Derek refused to see this as anything more than a mouthy college student having shit luck. He couldn’t, because he couldn’t get his hopes up. He couldn’t fuel the fire that Stiles had sparked two years ago, when he’d sat on that very couch, skinny and out of breath and sunburnt because his phone was dead and the road through the woods was even more dead and his car was even _more_ dead and he’d had to push the Jeep two miles by himself. Seventeen and mouthy and tomato red and dangerously flirty. 

It didn’t matter that he was almost twenty now because that didn't lessen their age gap and soon he’d be going back to college where his car would continue to break down and he’d get a tow to whatever garage was closest and flirt with _that_ mechanic and drink _his_ coffee.  
  
“… _said are you ok?!_ ”  
  
Derek snapped to attention, images of Stiles flirting with another mechanic flying out of his head in an instant because the real Stiles was right in front of him, face inches from his own and tired eyes pinched in concern.  
  
“What?” he said smartly. _Ah, yes, woo the twenty year old with your charm, Derek_.  
  
Stiles’ face slid back into its relaxed default and he sat back down on his own cushion with a smile. “I lost you for a second, totally gone. Thought I was gonna have to perform CPR.” He winked and Derek felt his face grow hot.  
  
“CPR is for when someone isn’t breathing,” he retorted, stifling his brief panic by shutting down Stiles attempt at flirting. But this was Stiles, and he was nothing if not persistent.  
  
“CPR saves _lives, Derek_.” He said like Derek should know better.  
  
(He didn’t).

 

* * *

 

 

3.  
  
“Are you kidding me, Derek? An Emu? Since when did Emu’s have two-toed feet? Huh, Derek? HUH?!”  
  
As he looked down at the hood of the familiar blue Jeep, Derek wanted so badly to be angry. There were four long gashes in sets of two that streaked down the glass of the windshield and tore at the metal of the hood, and Stiles stood right against his side, sunburned and dressed in a ridiculous African Safari outfit. With a _hat_. He looked as frustrated as Derek reasoned _he_ should be but there was a crinkle around his eyes that betrayed how much fun he was having with this.  
  
He should be angry. Because this was ridiculous.  
  
But then again, so was Stiles.  
  
He gave his most grievous sigh and wiped his hand on his pants once more before bringing it up to clasp Stiles’ shoulder in what he hoped came across as a casual stance. Stiles sputtered and busied himself with sipping from his #1 Mechanic mug.  
  
“So an ostrich jumped on your car yesterday and yet here you are dressed like you’re still on a Safari.” _Ha!_ He thought. _Caught you in your lie you delicious little shit_. But if Stiles was blushing, he couldn’t see it under the raccoon sunburn that made his nose freckle.  
  
“Well you see,” Stiles started, smiling himself back into his usual confidence as he leaned into Derek’s hand, “After our traumatic experience at the drive though Safari it only seemed natural to have a bon fire and get drunk in the middle of the woods. Haven’t slept a wink! I think I’m still running on pure adrenaline. _Man_ , those birds are scary. Can you imagine eight feet of angry bird jumping at you?” He flailed a little, ignoring his sloshing coffee and leaning in until Derek was supporting some of his weight with his side. “You have no idea” he whispered darkly, eyes squinting at Derek’s. “Terrifying. Scott was all BLAAA and I thought Isaac was going to pee himself. I bet if I brought in my poor Jeep after that you’d make _him_ do all the work.”  
  
It took Derek a minute to realize that the Isaac Stiles was talking about was the one who worked the office (even though Derek didn’t really _need_ him) all summer and was trying to coerce Derek into some sort of apprenticeship. It had never occurred to him that those two were the same age, that he and Stiles could possibly have a person in common.  
  
“But yea…” Stiles kept on, interrupting the minor internal freak out Derek always seemed to have during these visits. “If Isaac comes in late today, don’t be too hard on him, ok? We didn’t actually _mean_ to stay out all night and his dad might give him shit.”  
  
Derek nodded curtly, the sobering air making him feel inappropriate. He pulled his hand away and pointedly ignored the bobbing of Stile’s Adam’s apple as he gulped on air. He was reminded of how young Stiles was- still in college and friends with someone Derek considered to be a little brother.  
  
And maybe Stiles was just a persistent flirt that didn’t know what he was doing.  
  
Or maybe he knew how to read Derek and exactly how to get under his skin and _loved it_.  
  
Because Stiles leaned in again, angling his body just until they were almost face to face, coffee holding hand swinging in until his knuckles brushed against Derek’s already dirtying shirt. Derek could feel the fabric move and held himself back from leaning in until he could feel the pressure on his sternum. Stiles hummed and looked up at him through his lashes, cheeks burnt and lips parted and just slightly turned up at the corners. Derek could feel a pulse rippling through him but he couldn’t for the life of him figure out whose it was and all he could think about was how desperately he wanted to feel those lips on his own and how painful it was that he had to stop himself and wait for Stiles to make the first move.  
  
Stiles grinned then, pressing his knuckles into Derek’s chest and keeping their eyes locked tight.  
  
“An Emu is an Australian bird; it wouldn’t be on an African Safari. _Derek_.”  
  
So torn between wanting to kiss him senseless and wanting to punch him, Derek lost his opportunity to do either when Stiles danced away, laughing as retreated outside to call for a ride.

 

* * *

 

 

4.  
  
You can’t get used to something that happens once a month, can you? It just didn’t make sense. You couldn’t make a habit out of one random day a month. And yet, for some reason unknown to him, Derek had pulled the untouched blue mug from the empty cupboard, filled it with coffee, and set it next to his tool box as he went to work on the car he’d started the evening prior.  
  
Maybe he was (not so) secretly hopeful. Maybe there was something on the wind. Maybe he was psychic? The coffee didn’t even have time to cool before a rumble approached the garage door. He could practically _hear_ the tumble of limbs. And if it made his heart stammer, no one would ever know.  
  
The tow truck driver left the Jeep abandoned at the entrance and Stiles stalked up to stand so close to Derek’s legs the fabric of their jeans brushed. He audibly sipped his coffee before speaking.  
  
“I could get used to this,” he mumbled just loud enough for Derek to hear.  
  
“You _are_ used to it,” he retorted, not needing to try and sound gruff- the angle of his neck did it for him. Stiles kicked his foot under Derek’s ankle with a quiet laugh and didn’t move it away. “And what makes you think that’s not my coffee?”  
  
“Because it’s in _my_ mug.” He took another loud sip. “And you put two sugars in it Mr. Sweet Things Will Ruin My Underwear Model Physique. Now. Stop trying to deny our passionate magnetism and finish up so I can appreciate your sugar-free diet properly.”  
  
Was it spite or the swelling feeling in his belly that had Derek shooting out from underneath the Honda? Maybe both. Or maybe he was going mad because he didn’t even allow Stiles time to regain his composure (slack-jawed and glazed was a good look on him) before he was right in his personal space. August heat be damned, getting that close was worth the snap of Stiles Jaw closing and the blasting of his pupils. _Oh_ how he wanted to laugh, but he kept his face sober and eyelids low, letting their bodies align but not touch. Nothing more than cloth ghosting on cloth. He was enjoying it too much- the flush burning across Stiles’ slightly tanned face, the stuttering of his exhale, his inability to say _anything_ when normally he couldn’t keep back his witty retorts.  
  
Derek reached up and wrapped his hand around the mug, trapping Stiles fingers in a delicious press of skin as he brought the coffee- brought _Stiles_ \- up to his mouth for a long sip. He watched Stiles watch his mouth. It wasn’t entirely accidental that his bottom lip brushed against the long, clean finger closest to the edge of the mug. When he released his grasp it was cautiously, not entirely certain that Stiles was capable of keeping his grip.  
  
“H… hail,” Stiles finally sputtered out. Still in his space, for a moment Derek thought he was saying his name. Then he saw past Stiles’ shoulder that the Jeep’s windshield was covered in spider-webbing indents. He let out an amused huff across Stile’s mouth, not unaware that the twenty-year-old was still staring at his own, slack-jawed yet again.  
  
“It barely sleeted last night, _Stiles_.”  
  
That seemed to break whatever trance he’d been in. Brown snapped up to hazel, aware and amused and crinkling with a smile.  
  
“Ice fell from the _sky_ , Derek. It doesn’t care what you call it, it only cares if your poor sweet car is stuck outside.”  
  
“Uh huh,” Derek indulged, features twisting into exaggerated understanding. Letting himself have that one more moment of gazing into Stiles’ eyes, Derek sat himself back down to slide under the car again. This time he did laugh when Stiles collapsed against it and swore quietly.

 

* * *

  
  
5.

On the first day of September, Derek stared miserably at the cup of coffee wedged inside his toolbox. He’d forgotten that Stiles had to go back to school, didn’t want to remember. He barely had any work leftover from the day before; there was no reason for him to open at seven. Well, he _had_ a reason, but that reason had probably left already.  
  
He got angry at himself for thinking anything could happen. He was going to stay in Beacon Hills and Stiles was going to go to school for two more years.  
  
That didn’t mean his heart didn’t beat a little faster when he saw the tow truck pulling in with a familiar blue Jeep trailing behind it.  
  
It stopped completely when Mike began unloading the car and no one toppled out of the passenger seat. Derek pushed off from where he was leaning over last night’s unfinished car and walked all the way out of the garage. He’d seen the Jeep in worse condition; the tires were worn down to nothing and the back one had several slashes in it. This wasn’t something from an accident- it _screamed_ Stiles- and yet the boy wasn’t in the cab. He turned on the driver.  
  
“Where’s Stiles?”  
  
The man looked a little more than pleased. “He was being an ass.”  
  
“RUDE!”  
  
Derek turned on his heel at the indignant call, finding Stiles doubled over, braced with one hand on the side of the doorframe, and wheezing. When he looked up, his face was red.  
  
“You can’t just leave a guy in the middle of nowhere, Raoul!” He accused loudly between coughs and gasps. The driver twitched and climbed back into his truck with an angry, “It’s MIKE,” before he was slamming his door and pulling away. Stiles swatted his hand dismissively after the truck and leaned his whole body against the building.  
  
“Some people, I tell ya. So unprofessional.”  
  
Derek snorted and walked back into the garage knowing Stiles would follow. He did, breath calming a bit by the time he reached for his coffee. Derek was about to offer him a cold water but Stiles already had the mug to his mouth and was taking long chugs.  
  
“Did you actually run all the way here?” he asked instead. Stiles put the empty mug down with an exaggerated sound of quenched thirst and wiped his mouth on the back of his hand.  
  
“Yep. Straight through the forest. Figured that way I’d be able to climb a tree if the bear decided I’d make a tasty breakfast.”  
  
Derek leveled him with an unimpressed glare. “Bear,” he deadpanned. Stiles gestured wildly to his car and then at his flushed face.  
  
“The American Black Bear is a force to be reckoned with, Derek. And as much as I love a good breakfast, that’s not the type of eating I’d like to have done to me, if you know what I mean.”  
  
Derek very nearly dropped the tool in his hand, eyes wide and avoiding Stiles face. He schooled himself quickly.  
  
“I mean _seriously_ ,” Stiles continued, either oblivious to Derek’s reaction or ignoring it, “What kind of guy picks up some kid’s car and _leaves_ him to be mauled by a wild animal. The _nerve_.”  
  
“I thought black bear attacks were rare in these parts. Or _any_ parts. Grizzlies are more the mauling type than Olympics.”  
  
Stiles blinked at him owlishly, obviously caught off guard that not only was he playing along, but he actually knew what he was talking about. He sided up to Derek, shoulders pressing and looked up at him through his lashes like he’d done last time.  
  
“You’ve been holding out on me, Derek. You’re a closet nerd, aren’t you.”  
  
The tone Stiles used in these moments never failed to make Derek’s heart sky rocket. He did his best not to let his face show it; relentless teasing would be his only reward for cracking.  
  
“Nerd, huh?” He leaned over until he could feel Stiles breath on his mouth and their foreheads were almost touching. “Well this _nerd_ can bench press a small female _Ursus americanus altiforontalis_.”  
  
Stiles slack jaw was worth every miserable minute he’d spent in that damn gen-ed back in school. His eyes not so subtly flashed to Derek's exposed biceps, to his mouth, to his eyes. There was nothing sweeter than making Stiles speechless.  
  
“Did’ju,” his voice cracked and he cleared his throat but he still didn’t pull away. “You learn that at mechanic school?”  
  
“College,” Derek stressed. “Which is where I thought you’d be going today.”  
  
That earned him an amused smirk. “The first of September? Really, Derek? That’s Hogwarts, not Berkley. I leave in four days.”  
  
Derek hummed. “I think I’ll probably be able to fix your Jeep up by then. But promise me something Stiles.” The boy’s eyes lit up with something that he could only call hope, his throat seizing in a gulp. “You need to stop doing this. You’re going to get yourself hurt one of these days.”  
  
Whatever Stiles thought he was going to hear, it wasn’t that. Something else flashed across his features but he’d plastered on a forced grin before Derek could try to figure out what it was.  
  
“With my track record, I’m more likely to get mauled by a black bear, _Derek_.”  
  
He was gone the same instant, phone out to call his friend for a ride. No goodbye. Derek pretended he wasn’t expecting more and glared down at the tool in his hand.  
  


He stopped coming in at seven.

  
  


* * *

 

+1  
  


September and October had gone by slowly.  
  
He wanted. He wanted to see Stiles somewhere outside the garage. Wanted to see him without the pretense of dropping off or picking up his Jeep. Wanted to see him in winter clothes. In a nice restaurant. In his bed.  
  
He just wanted Stiles and it was _absurd_ and he almost hated himself for it. Was this what the entire year was going to be like? Filled with pining? That was pathetic.  
  
By the very end of October, he finally got up the courage to find Stiles on Facebook.  
  
They talked for almost an hour on Thursday.  
  
Stiles said he had a surprise for him.  
  
Given that he knew none of his Beacon Hills friends went to Berkley, Derek had an idea what that surprise was. All weekend, he kept Stiles’ blue mug filled with coffee and nestled in his tool box. Work was slow but he started coming in at seven again. By Saturday afternoon, he had finished up all the work he had to do but still didn’t go home until his usual closing time. By eleven on Sunday, he was starting to lose hope. He went to the diner down on the road for his usual Sunday lunch, dunking his grilled cheese into his soup aggressively.  
  
Ok, so technically he had no real right to be angry. Stiles never said he was going to visit. Berkley wasn’t exactly close; visiting for Halloween was pointless with Thanksgiving right around the corner.  
  
He went back to the garage resigned with the fact that he wouldn’t see Stiles and with the passing thought to call Isaac and tell him to not bother coming in. There was little work to be done that he couldn’t do himself.  
  
What he found was a Jeep.  
  
He’d seen worse, he had. He’d seen cars brought into his garage so totaled that he’d had to turn them away. What was different this time was the way his heart seemingly stopped beating when he saw the smashed front of the all too familiar car.  
  
But Stiles always came in the morning. Where was Stiles? Had he run all the way there again? Derek jogged out of the garage and scanned the woods behind his building. Nothing. His stomach dropped as he walked back inside. He stalked around the Jeep, hand smoothing over his mouth as he tried to piece together what had happened. What had happened to…  
  
“Jesus,” he swore, more out of anxiety than anything. He leaned on the crumpled metal, head bowed and foot tapping without rhythm. “God dammit, Stiles.” _Please_.  
  
“You rang?”  
  
Derek’s head shot up, eyes wide and jaw clenched. Relief washed over him so fast he almost felt like laughing at the boy leaning against the doorframe of the office. A tired smile tugged at Stiles’ mouth and then Derek felt inexplicably angry. _Furious_. He pushed off the car and pointed a shaking finger.  
  
“What did I fucking tell you, Stiles?” He hall but shouted. Stiles didn’t shrink away like people usually did, but he did avoid meeting his eyes. “I told you to stop doing this stupid, childish shit. Just come to fucking see me before you get _hurt_.” He got closer as he ground out the words, finishing with a jab to Stiles' chest to stress his point. This time, Stiles did flinch away, eyes clenched briefly.  
  
He froze.  
  
“About that,” Stiles said but he didn’t continue. Derek took one more step until he was crowding his personal space, hands hovering over either side of the hoodie zipped to the neck. He didn’t wait for permission- maybe a part of him felt like he didn’t have to and Stiles didn’t stop him as he tugged the zipper down. Where there should have been a shirt there were bandages. He stopped at his stomach, only now realizing that this was so far outside of their previous relationship that he couldn’t back down. So he went forward, so close that his boots came to either side of Stiles’ sneakers and wrapped his arms around his neck and shoulders, gently as he could.  
  
“I was gonna… I was going to come by this morning,” Stiles started again, his voice shaking and tight like he was trying his hardest to keep himself together. Derek brought one hand up to palm the back of his head like it was something normal for them. “I was gonna… for real. I was going to ask you out to lunch before I had to go back and I was going to woo you with my unparalleled knowledge of Spiderman so that you fell in love with me and would wait for me to come back and… but…” He took in a painful breath, a small cough escaping like it hurt just to breathe any way but slowly.  
  
Derek waited, on the brink of feeling awkward but his adrenaline and emotional whiplash kept him grounded to Stiles. He was glad he didn’t pull away, because Stiles finally let his head fall to Derek’s shoulder, hands coming up weakly to fist in his greasy shirt, desperate to return the embrace but unable to lift his arms any higher.  
  
“Tell me what happened,” he said lowly. He knew he shouldn’t ask- how many times had he been asked to retell it? How many times did he imagine it over and over again? Derek knew you didn’t just get over things like that in a few hours but he was selfish. He needed to know. He needed Stiles to tell him because he was _there_ even after everything. They were barely even friends and yet he’d come to him, still bandaged and worked up.  
  
Stiles lifted his head but didn’t give any indication that Derek should move back. His eyes rolled to the ceiling, brimmed with tears that he refused to let fall. Derek’s hand fell to the side of his neck, thumb finding its place on the curve of his jaw. Swallowing and sniffing, Stiles started again, his eyes falling back down to stare between Derek’s ear and shoulder.  
  
“Party last night. God- I had been so close to asking you to come,” he punctuated his sharp words with tugs on Derek’s shirt. “I chickened out and everyone was poking fun  because _fuck_ they all knew how much I liked you and I couldn’t even drink myself courageous because I had to drive so I left early and… but there… was another driver who…” Stiles lifted his eyes to the ceiling again like a reflex to keep himself from crying. “My friend Erica was the passenger in the other car… still in the hospital. Isaac’s a wreck over her. And I’m not even…. Not even a _scratch_ \- just…”  
  
Derek had a fleeting thought to call Isaac and make sure he was ok. But right now, in his hands, Stiles had his full attention. The tears still didn’t fall and he had a feeling that for as long as there was that risk, Stiles wouldn’t look at him. He tapped his thumb, fingers gripping once on the back of Stiles’ neck and releasing so his hand could slide down to his shoulder.  
  
“Are you ok?” he asked. Stiles lips pulled into a small smile and he nodded. “Are you lying to me?”  
  
“Would I ever lie to you?” Stiles retorted, his voice a little stronger now, his knuckles brushing on Derek’s sides teasingly where they were still gripped in his shirt. He was grateful for the change in atmosphere even if he didn’t say it. Derek was too and he squeezed his hand until Stiles finally looked at him.  
  
“Ostriches.”  
  
A blush fanned across Stiles cheeks that Derek was all too familiar with. “The, uh… the ostrich incident actually happened.”  
  
Derek laughed outright, right in Stiles face and he would have felt a little ashamed if Stiles hadn’t started grinning, too. “You’re kidding me. Of all the animals to jump your car at the drive through Safari.”  
  
“Ostriches are a serious threat to automotive owners, _Derek_ ,” Stiles said his name like he should know better.  
  
He did.

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Drive through Safaris are my favorite but I will forever be afraid of the ostriches....


End file.
